In fifth grade, I wrote a series of short stories during English class. They became a hit with my friends, which I should consider an accomplishment because they didn't really... read. But they were always pestering me to finish the next one, so I guess they liked them. These stories revolve around one child, although I don't think I ever decided a gender. They, however, live in a psychotic town for some reason unbeknownst to me. Crazy kitchen utensils are attacking, and no one knows why. This wasn't really thought through.